


Consider This

by Enisy



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Missing Scene, Religious Cults, Season/Series 07
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:08:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27271696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enisy/pseuds/Enisy
Summary: In which Dukat talks a good game, and Kira might be losing her religion.Takes place during the Season 7 episodeCovenant.
Relationships: Dukat/Kira Nerys
Comments: 6
Kudos: 9
Collections: Shipoween 2020 - The Halloween Ship Exchange!





	Consider This

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wiccy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wiccy/gifts).



Kira has not forgotten what it was like, having a Prophet inside her. Shortly before it possessed her, she had felt a terrible chill, as if the environmental controls on the station had failed. And then that sensation had been knocked out of her like a broken tooth, along with everything else: thought, touch, smell, hearing, sight.

She… doesn’t think that’s what’s going on with Dukat now.

“Kosst no’valt Amojan, my children.” He bows his head, and Kira can tell there’s a film between him and the world again, or still: a protective layer of delusion and disbelief. He may be mad, but he’s not harmless. And yeah – definitely not possessed. “Thank you for attending this service. I won’t keep you much longer, but I do want to briefly pass the torch to Ojel, who has come up with an _excellent_ idea to advance our covenant. I hope you’ll give him your attention.”

His hand is resting on the shoulder of a young man – a boy, really, no older than fifteen. He’s nervous, this Ojel: again and again, his thumb and index finger are drawn to his chin, where they worry a bit of stubble. Nervous, or excited? At length, he drops his hand, only to pick up a small container. He squeezes some of its content on his palm. Kira can’t see what it is, but his fingers are soon spreading it over his cheeks, revealing it to be paint.

The boy proves to be a dab hand at this. Kira watches with equal parts horror and fascination as he lengthens and distorts the grooves of his nose. As he traces new lines down his temples and along his jaw. As he smudges the bottom of each streak with the lightest of touches, giving it a three-dimensional effect. As he draws an indentation on his forehead.

He paints those Cardassian ridges _to a T_ without even glancing at a mirror.

Ojel reaches for a knife, after – no respectable cult can say no to a little blood ritual – but Kira turns away before she can see what he intends to do with it.

Dukat finds her when it’s all over, and it’s like nothing has changed. His ego lights up like a palm beacon, bright enough that Kira can’t see anything else about him – neither his shortcomings nor his strengths. But she can’t look away, either.

“Nerys.”

“That was quite the show,” says Kira. “I see you haven’t lost your flair for spilling Bajoran blood.”

From the way Dukat’s mouth twists, it’s clear he’s forcing down a chuckle. Figures. It probably doesn’t jibe with his new, benevolent, father-knows-best image. “As I’ve explained to you before,” he says patiently, “any wrongs I may have committed during the Occupation were entirely at the Prophets’ discretion.”

“The Prophets didn’t starve my brothers. The Prophets didn’t execute my friends.”

“Perhaps not. But they can interface with our world, as you have experienced personally. So why didn’t they do anything to help?”

Kira’s insides churn. “Because –”

While she ponders this, the Cardassian patters on, like a running fountain in the background: “You can’t lie to me, Nerys: you do not champion the Prophets’ non-interventionist policy, either. I promise you, the Pah-Wraiths intend to take a more proactive role –”

Oh, he’s good. If there’s one thing Dukat has a knack for, it’s _talking_ : lips curling and uncurling, tongue tapping plosive lies against his palate. It amazes Kira, how he can inspire faith and love in the very people he despoiled. Seeing him framed by heroic gold-red pennants, listening to his deep, beautiful voice… well, she doesn’t _believe_ , but she can put herself in the shoes of someone who does.

And once you’ve reeled in faith – once you have it flailing and squirming in your basket, and you’ve lifted up the cudgel to bash its head in – you can be sure love is going to take the bait, as well.

“I don’t want you to be forsaken, neglected, scorned: you know how highly I think of you.”

Kira has felt that fishing hook curve around the rim of her own ribcage.

“Don’t you want to, for once, pray to a god and get an answer back?”

Kira has felt...

“Bajor and Cardassia will be one again, but this time as a melting pot of cultures, soldiers in arms, _equals_ : you and I can make that happen.”

And sometimes there’s a tug.

Once Dukat and his followers are gone, Kira’s feet propel her to the altar where that boy disfigured his face earlier. He looked so earnest when he applied the tincture to his cheeks – as though Vedek Fala was gonna teach the class geometry and he’d been put in charge of the roll call.

Hardly knowing why, Kira squirts a bit of paint on her own fingers. Dark. Wet. Bloodlike. After what she’s been through, it’s not much of a stretch to imagine it on her own face.

She conjures up a memory of Ziyal, with her alloy of features, the crenellated nose dipping down to a courtyard with a moat. She conjures up Iliana Ghemor: a second Kira Nerys, through a glass darkly. Meanwhile, she fancies she can feel the Pah-Wraiths’ presence near her, like a cool breath on her neck. _They_ used to be Prophets, too.

A covenant. Wouldn’t that be nice? Wouldn’t that just wrap everything up with a perfect little bow? The Fala in her head seems to agree: _forgiveness is a duty, not a favor_ , he booms. Covenant. Future generations would read about the Occupation in history books, but they wouldn’t think about it while chopping onions, while watching springball, while making love, while _chopping onions_ , and she could flirt and banter with Dukat without feeling sick to her stomach – she’d be free, they’d both be free.

The paint dries on Kira’s fingers, though not as quickly as she’d like.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [enisywrites](https://enisywrites.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr. Come on over if you want to drop me a prompt or a question, or if you just want to say hi!


End file.
